


padawan braids and where to find them

by vapaad



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Canon Compliant, Disaster Lineage (Star Wars), Fluff and Angst, Force Bond (Star Wars), Gen, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Culture & Tradition (Star Wars), Jedi Culture Respected, Jedi as Found Family (Star Wars), Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, That's Not How The Force Works (Star Wars), an exploration on the force jedi culture and all that, they all get hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27958751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vapaad/pseuds/vapaad
Summary: Anakin, newly freed. Ahsoka, Anakin, and the clone wars. Dooku leaving the order. Obi-Wan in Tatooine.orin which various members of the disaster lineage explores the meaning of Padawan braids, Jedi culture, and The Force, discussed alongside tea and other beverage options. This, of course, involves feelings and contemplative narration.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Anakin Skywalker & Shmi Skywalker, Dooku & Qui-Gon Jinn, Dooku & Yoda (Star Wars), Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Force & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 30
Kudos: 124





	1. to turn to hope

**Author's Note:**

> i am so!! excited to finally post this it has been bothering me for MONTHS! updates are sporadic depending on my schedule, enjoy! 
> 
> unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine.

“Master?” the soft voice of a child disturbs his meditation. _Force_ he’s never going to get used to being at the other end of that name. 

“Yes, Anakin?” he hums a reply to the young padawan, his eyes kept close. 

“Can I ask you something?” Obi-Wan notices that Anakin, while evidently brimming with curiosity, favors keeping questions to himself. ( _Or he somehow finds the answers on his own- as if someone whispers them to him)_ . “Of course, Padawan.” nor will Obi-Wan get used to being on the other end of _that_ calling.

“Where did your hair go?” At the peculiar question, Obi-Wan opens his eyes, raising an eyebrow.

“I beg your pardon?” As if trained to do so _(He probably was)_ , Anakin instantly turns his head down onto the floor. Realizing his mistake, Obi-Wan backtracks. “What hair, Anakin?” 

“You had a… tail? The long one from your hair, when we met.” there are pauses in Anakin’s sentences, the years of missed basic showing. 

“My braid?” the boy nods in conformation. 

Of course, a boy raised in slavery would not be familiar with the terminologies of the jedi. Whilst the glory stories of the Jedi are much popular _everywhere,_ the same could not be said for the culture of his people. Once again, Obi-Wan feels as if he’s out of his depth. After all, how could he explain a concept so extremely ingrained to even the youngest of younglings?

Obi-Wan recalls being Anakin’s age, being _younger_ . He recalls braiding his hair, the hair of his friends, anticipating the days in the future where a Jedi Master, _his_ Jedi Master would come do it for him. Anakin may have a Padawan braid, but he does not know yet _what_ constitutes a braiding. Anakin is not yet familiar with the pride, the comfort, the protection, and the eternal _compassion_ that signifies a braiding. 

“The braid is… the braid is the physical form of a Master-Padawan relationship, Anakin, Much like the bond in the force shared between the two, but… physical. It lengthens with time, it _strengthens_ and it ends alongside an apprenticeship.” Obi-Wan would prefer _not_ to think about how both of his bonds were ended with a strong _snap_. 

He sees Anakin’s contemplative look, hesitant to speak. “Oh.” Somehow, that one single oh spoke a thousand words. Obi-Wan could feel the grief, and the regret from Anakin. 

“It’s alright, Padawan.” Obi-Wan gives the boy a small smile, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“Anakin, this… braid. It holds much significance to me, to all those you have met. I just hope it will grow to have the same meanings to you, dear one.” 

There are stories of the Padawan braid, of its origins. Some speculate that it was merely a way to get rid of long hair, some points out the philosophical nature of it. Obi-Wan leans much towards the latter. He remembers, of course, the three strands of the Padawan braid. The cosmic force, the living force, and the jedi. Each strand, each component, must exist in constant harmony to manifest a true individual of the force, the Jedi as the host of the force. 

And of course, nothing is done without meaning. When Qui-Gon braided Obi-Wan, the strength of their bond was reinforced with the elements of a Master-Padawan pair. A braid was a sign of protection, a sign of care. Jedi may be familial, but they are also private in nature. Each lineage would have their own traditions, yes. But a common concept across all realms was the care of the Padawan braid. 

Qui-Gon would run his large fingers in between his hair, thumbing the independently separated triplet strands, and he’d hum a tune of the force as they are intertwined. As he completes his rites, his trials, the time of this process turns longer. In the last years of his padawanship, his Master had to set aside hours, cleaning and changing colorful beads, taming mission torn hair. But Qui-Gon has always done so with _patience_ , something not so frequently applied by the Master of the Living Force for himself. 

He has never felt the utterly comforting absence of his braid more severely.

“In Tatooine, we would get braided too.” This was the first time Obi-Wan has heard the boy mention his home planet in the months they’ve been together.

“My mom says that everything revolves around choice, and it was the only form of chains we had control of.” the Padawan says so in a nonchalant way, accompanied by a shrug. “I… like it.” Anakin’s fingers touch his braid, not yet grown and sticking out of his head like a horn. It strikes Obi-Wan how young the boy was, how young _he_ was, with his hair only beginning to grow after his knighting. 

He questions why the force would leave him to care for a nine year old Padawan who supposedly is the chosen one. _Focus on the here and now_

“As you get older, Anakin. Your hair will grow longer, and we will be met with more opportunities to braid it.” 

  
“Will you be braiding it for me, Master?”

  
  
“Of course Padawan, every centimeter of it. Assuming you would be willing to do so, through our many, many, years of partnership.” 

The young boy giggles, eyes gleeful. “You’re _silly_! Of course I am! I’m never leaving you.” he wants nothing more than to hold the boy close to him, to preserve the joy of Anakin, to etch his smile as a constellation. 

Anakin was a slave in Tatooine. Obi-Wan was not there, but from the words of his late Master, and what he himself has known of slavery… Obi-Wan wants nothing but happiness for the boy across him. Because that is what Anakin is; a boy still. A child within all his rights. He will be damned if anything happens to him. 

“And I to you, Padawan.” Obi-Wan reaches to Anakin, his hand seemingly large thumbing Anakin’s braid. “I vow to protect you, to ensure no harm will befall you, to guide you, to care for you. And… to not leave you.” _attachment_ the voice in his head whispers. 

But force be damned, Anakin is his padawan. He will meet the ends of the world with him. 

It is a strange feeling, to have responsibility. It’s strange to have someone who needs you so, who looks up to you and follows your every step. Perhaps Obi-Wan was not ready for a Padawan, but he has one now. He swears by the golden haired boy, with the force presence of a shining star. He swears by the blue eyed child, clear as the blue skies, clouded with memories of a past in chains. 

“You promise?” his head is tilted, confusion etching his features. “You won’t leave?” there is a fragility to Anakin’s voice unfit for a nine year old. 

“Of course, Anakin.” he doesn’t know if it’s a promise he can vow by, evident by the breaking of his voice, by the reflective quality of his eyes. After all, Qui-Gon had once said the same words to him and left. After all, Master Dooku had once said the same words to his own Master and left. Obi-Wan clears his throat, “My apologies.”

“My mom said that most people leave. And that it’s okay. Because they’re here.” Anakin gestures to Obi-Wan’s heart. “Whenever I said goodbye to my friends, she told me to look up at the suns, and she says that their love for us is why the suns shine.” 

“That’s why the suns, the desert… they’re not cruel. They shine for us, for the mercy of community under the suns.” the small hand moves away from Obi-Wan’s chest. “Master Qui-Gon is okay, and he’s there _yeah_ but he’s also with you!” 

“Your mother is a wise woman, Anakin.” he pats on the blonde streams of the boy. “Would you like some tea, Padawan? I have a story for you.” Obi-Wan stands, making his way to the kitchenette. 

It’s routine. Two spoons of leaves in the brewer, water enough for two and a refill at ninety degrees. Three and a half minutes, then poured to a pot alongside two cups laid on a tray with biscuits.

He sits the tray in the middle of him and Anakin, and pours the slightly yellow clear liquid. Obi-Wan sets down the teapot. 

“It’s a little sweet.” Anakin remarks, taking a sip from the cup. 

“There’s a concept, Padawan. _There is no death, there is the Force._ ” Obi-Wan’s grip on the mug tightens, seeking its warmth. “A line from the Jedi code.” 

“The Force, as you know, connects us all. The life through the living force, the beyond through the cosmic force. There is no Jedi without it, it is the very essence of our being. We breathe it, and we breathe because of it.” he thinks back to Qui-Gonn’s words, of Anakin’s possible Force creation. The sheer impossibility yet possibility of it. 

“Our beings are written in the cosmic force, and our lives within the living force. It tethers us to our connection with the galaxy, and as fellow force sensitives- connections with each other. What makes a Jedi… well, _Jedi_ is more than just the Force. Our connections, our compassion, is also what makes us so, Anakin.” he watches the Padawan blink his eyes in curiosity, taking small sips of his tea as Obi-Wan talks. 

“Whilst the Force is very much real, very much felt, it is still _other_. This, padawan.” he directs his finger to Anakin’s braid. “Is an embodiment thereof.”

“What do you mean?” the boy reaches for his braid.

“Jedi believe in connections. The central one, the being and the force. The secondary, of masters and padawans. And the third, of the Jedi and the galaxy. We are Jedi, tenants of the force, protectors of peace. We are Master and Padawan, something that is… _more._ ” 

Earlier Obi-Wan had told him of the braid, of its physical meaning. The dual bonds of a Master and their Padawan. One in the Force, a glowing thread of intimate connection. The Padawan braid, to signify time and strength. The Force shines brightly upon pairs, gifts with compassion and knowledge. 

“You told me earlier, of how the braid is a form of control for you. Well, when we performed the braiding ceremony, Anakin. It could be argued that we released individual control. We released it and became a pair, a team. Your braid not only connects you with the title of padawanship, with the force, but also with _me_.” he watches Anakin process this, perhaps not liking the idea of having to relinquish control. Obi-Wan hopes Anakin knows that he always has a choice in these matters. 

“But… when you cut your braid, did your connection with Master Qui-Gon end?” Obi-Wan takes a long sip, preparing himself for an answer. 

“My circumstances were a little… different, Anakin. My bonds with Qui-Gon severed the moment he left the living force, before even the braid was cut.” It is unusual for Padawans to lose their Masters, though he has seen it happen a few times. Bant, for example. 

“I don’t get it. Aren’t you still connected with Master Qui-Gon? Through the Force? Isn’t he looking after you right now, ‘bi wan?” Anakin raises a finger to his chin in thought. 

“It’s a little more complicated than that, Anakin. Once a being has rejoined the Force, they lose all sense of being… they relinquish control of their individual selves.” 

“ _Oh_.”

“Exactly, _oh_. The Force connects us all Anakin, this energy, this entity… yet it is so much more than us. It’s a connection that- whilst feels so close to us, is entirely abstract in its nature. But your three stands of intertwined hair, Padawan? It is concrete. It’s a tether and I hope you grow to treasure it as I did, as I still do.” the blonde nods at him, as if in aggressive agreement. 

“Promise!”

Anakin Skywalker is his Padawan, and he _will_ be a Jedi, the best of Jedi. It is less arrogance and more the will of the force, he feels it. Obi-Wan stares at the boy across from him, cup filled with a refill of their tea, wisps of steam being blown in an attempt to regulate its temperature. This boy with his golden force presence and his gleaming smile, _his Padawan_. 

When he closes his eyes, he can almost see it. Anakin kneeling in front of him, the twelve lightsabers surrounding them. He can almost hear the words, his pride reflected through the strong bond of Master and Padawan. He can almost feel it, the hilt of his lightsaber cold on his hands, the blue blade slashing through hair. He can almost smell it, the telltale smell of a knighting ceremony, the leftover threads of burnt hair. 

Obi-Wan imagines it, holding a decade’s worth of hair growth, neatly braided. _The Jedi, the cosmic force, and the living force_ three strands interlocked by the colorful beads of Padawanship. The joy, the love _, attachment._

He believes it to be the future. Qui-Gon had once told him to focus on the here and now. And focus he will. Anakin Skywalker will be the best of them all. _(chosen. He is chosen. He is my child- he is chosen.)_

Obi-Wan Kenobi shivers, feeling the force shudder with change.

_By the right of the Council, by the will of the Force, I dub thee Jedi, Knight of the Republic._

_Rise, Knight Skywalker._


	2. to turn to life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newly padawan Ahsoka gets her braid, and gets to know her Master a bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have NO idea where this came from but??? it's here and i like it so have at it! next one's next week though! (i think)
> 
> unbeta'd all mistakes are mine

The void of space is glittered with stars and planets, all with their own gravitational pull, and a certain otherworldly glow to them. An individual existence in a galaxy of trillions, it is enough to highlight the insignificance of the individual over the collective, at times. When you stand in a building, you feel its largeness yet your control over it. In the midst of a planet, what you see is what’s in front of you, rendering all that is beyond insignificant, a certain isolating quality. But when you are in space, in the midst of a large galaxy yet surrounded by nothingness. When the stars are at your fingertips, how would you justify the individual existence? 

You simply live. Realize that the galaxy is connected with threads, that a pull, a weave, or a cut- no matter how seemingly insignificant, will influence the action or inaction of others. He has always been aware, more than most, of the _other_ in the vast galaxy. When one is connected with the force, the threads connecting the galaxy become much more visible. To acknowledge the presence of a mysterious force enveloping the void, making even the significant insignificant.

What is a mortal soul to do? 

Anakin has grown with a voice in his head, whispering him answers and listening to his whims. He has felt the will of the galaxy at his fingertips, the mysterious flowing through his body. For Anakin Skywalker is a Jedi, and a Jedi is a being of the Force. Perhaps in a more literal way when it comes to Anakin.

“Master Skywalker?” he feels the youngling approach him, her presence light, not yet tainted by the realities of death, war, and sacrifice. 

“Ahsoka.” he acknowledges her, nodding his head her way, gesturing her forth. “Did you need something, Padawan?” the togruta girl stands beside him, her pose imitating his own crossed arms. 

“I was just looking for you, skyguy.” _right_ he should probably start checking up on his padawan every few hours or so. _Padawan_. 

_Force,_ he’s twenty years old and extremely out of his depth. “Looking for me?” Anakin tilts to face Ahsoka.

“I was wondering if you’d do saber practice? If you’re free?” _right_ he’s a mentor now, a teacher. How strange. Was this how Obi-Wan felt when he had a nine year old thrown onto his lap all those years ago?

“Of course Ahsoka. I’ll be… just a moment.” he curls his fingers, balling them into a fist and hearing their cracks. Anakin unfurls his shoulders, testing to see if his body is even _up_ for saber training. “Well, let’s go then.”

He nods at the admiral as he passes him by, Ahsoka trailing behind him. They walk together towards the training rooms in silence, clones stopping to salute as they pass by. He reckons it must be a strange image for Ahsoka to not only witness the clones, but also to have them calling towards her, saluting towards her, being their commander.

Anakin knows that she prefers a reverse grip, her twin blades for an accompanying acrobatic Jar’Kai. They haven’t had a chance to practice much, he’s unfamiliar with her, with her fighting style and her tells. 

Obi-Wan had told him multiple times that the lightsaber is a Jedi’s life. The Order is oftentimes seen as a body devoid of emotional connections and species normalcy, but he knows how untrue the statement is. The Order holds its own forms of intimacy, one not understood through lenses of a non force sensitive sentient. Lightsabers are central to the Jedi, hence the status of intimacy held by the dance of the blades, lightsaber sparring. There’s much that cannot be said through words, and the flow of forms whispers tales of years of bonds and training. An otherworldly form of communication is what people think of it, of the force. To him, to the Jedi, it’s all they have ever known.

To communicate through and with the force. 

He brings his arms over his head, twists his hips and ankles, spanning his arms into a twist, and tilts his head. After testing the joints of his prosthetic, Anakin reaches to his belt and unhooks his lightsaber. The blue blade springs to life at a press of the trigger, the telltale hum and crackle of it fills the room. He twists the knobs, changing the settings to one that will not break the hull of a star destroyer. 

“Ready, Snips?” 

“I’ve been waiting for you, old man.” he smirks here, and takes the Djem So opening stance. His two feet stand apart, one slightly behind another. His saber is firm in his hands flatly facing the opponent at a certain angle. Across from him, Ahsoka takes position, her dual blades facing backwards, protectively covering her angles. _Her form needs work_. 

“Spread your feet wider, Ahsoka. You’re a little unbalanced.” he watches his Padawan shuffle her feet, widening the stance and coming back into the opening salute of the form. They stare at each other intensely for a while, until Anakin directs an upward slice at her. 

Ahsoka parries, her shoto protectively placed in front of her chest as her longer blade meets his upwards. The first mistake she makes is holding his parry. Anakin is evidently more powerful, especially accompanied by his rather aggressive form. He breaks it easily, causing Ahsoka’s wrist to flinch and show her vulnerability.

He exposes it, forcing his body mass closer to hers. With a few simple moves, Anakin could disarm Ahsoka here, the Padawan clearly still struggling to acclimate to Jar’Kai. He could also potentially step back, and let her realize her own mistake as they continue to spar. Anakin thinks of what Obi-Wan would do- _did_ do in these situations. Right, learning experiences. 

Anakin changes his grip, flicking Ahsoka’s blade and casting it to the floor. At her moment of hesitation of being disarmed, Anakin twists, taking her arm with him as he does, and lies her blade close to her neck. 

“ _Solah_.” his Padawan breathes, eyes still hazy and unbelieving of her easy disarmament. He raises his blade, twirling it in his hands. Ahsoka reaches for her fallen blade through the force, returning it back to its rightful place in her grips. He thinks she resembles a wet tooka.

“I know you’re still adjusting to Jar’Kai, Padawan. It’s alright. Take it as a learning experience, okay? Let’s go again.” They both take the opening stance once more, Ahsoka’s correct this time. He invites his Padawan to make her move first, and their blades clash in the emptiness of the room. 

Later, after disarming Ahsoka a good number of times, her breath heavy with exhaustion, Anakin calls for her to stop. Later, when Ahsoka takes a drink of water on a bench and meets her palms to her face, Anakin sits beside her. 

“What’s wrong, Padawan?” He is less tired, his body still brimming with the need to fight more. They were due to rendezvous with the 212th in a few hours, and Anakin is more than ready to pull in his former Master for a spar, or two, or three. 

“What am I doing wrong, Master?” Her voice sounds destroyed, hopeless. Perhaps he should have gone softer on her. 

“We’re practicing for a reason, Ahsoka. You’re still young, there’s much to learn.” he sits beside her, laying his flesh arm on her shoulders. He turns away from her, like a child in a tantrum. Because that’s what she is, a child. 

“I’m not a _youngling_ . And we’re at war! I’m a Padawan, I’m _your_ Padawan! I should be better than this.” She brushes away his hand, leaving him to sigh. 

“Ahsoka…” he runs his finger through his hair. “The entire point is that you are a _padawan_. A student. I promise no one expects you to be a Jar’Kai master instantly.” he smirks at her, noticing that she’s still turned away against him.

“Look, Ahsoka. Our situation here… it’s slightly unconventional. You’re not _supposed_ to be in an environment like this. If things were normal, well. If things were normal we’d be at the temple, you’d have dozens of Masters looking to instruct you and we’d have a proper Master-Padawan initiation period.”   
  
“If things were normal, I wouldn’t be your Padawan.” the words were spoken quietly, in a volume Anakin wouldn’t notice if he weren’t already trying to seek after Ahsoka’s voice. 

“I’d like to think that’s not true, Ahsoka.” as a matter of fact, he knows it to be false. Anakin remembers the tales Obi-Wan had told him, of the connection between Master and Padawan. He remembers how the connection was spoken of with the utmost importance and how a pair would only connect when the Force smiles upon them. Nothing less. 

“You would have never picked me, you didn’t even _want_ a Padawan when we first met, skyguy.” The nickname means he’s getting somewhere. 

“I wouldn’t have to pick you, Ahsoka. It’s… well, it’s the will of the force.” 

“The will of the force? Us?” his Padawan faces him once more, her legs crossed, a bottle of water in between them.

“The connection of a Master and Padawan is only second to the connection of a person and the force. That’s because of how _important_ it is, Ahsoka. A pair doesn’t _just_ happen… they’re usually fated.” 

“When I accepted you as my Padawan, Ahsoka… I accepted you to be a part of _me_ . I accepted the existence of an _us_ instead of a you and a me.” He remembers, moments from a decade ago, _we are master and padawan, we are more_. “The Force chose us, it smiles upon us, it connects us. You are my Padawan, we are a pair in the Force, together within the galaxy.” 

“Do you mean that?” her voice feels smaller than her stature, something Anakin finds impossible. He pushes his arm forward, reaching towards Ahsoka’s padawan beads. _Oh_.

Ahsoka hasn’t been given her silka beads.

He awkwardly rests his hand on her shoulder instead, seeing her look towards it, and smiles. “Wait here, Ahsoka. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

There is a set importance in a padawan braid, or beads in Ahsoka’s case. While it is acknowledged by all that a connection in the Force is what makes a Master-Padawan pair, the braid is there as a concrete and set form of the partnership. The fact that Ahsoka isn’t brandishing one is, in part, the fault of the war and his own. Anakin had sequestered the strands days ago during a supply rendezvous, yet it’s still not attached to Ahsoka. 

He jogs to his office quarters, hoping to find it where he left it, on his desk. With the opening of an automated door, a fingerprint lock on his drawer, he finds the wooden box. With a sigh of relief, a grin on his face, he jogs back to the training rooms. Back to his Padawan. Force, his _padawan._

Anakin finds her in the middle of the room, her body flowing through the katas of Jar’Kai. He approaches her quietly, unwilling to interrupt her focus. He observes her movement, the careful placing of her feet, the rise and fall of her chest. Anakin feels his pride. The Padawan opens her eyes, stopping to turn off her twin blades. 

“I have something for you,” he fiddles with the wooden box, inside it the silka beads are set in place, the telltale marking of a Padawan. “I know our partnership didn’t necessarily begin in a conventional way… And I’m sure it won’t be conventional for quite a bit. _But_ I can give you this, you know, for the sense of tradition.” Anakin slides it open, revealing the three grey colored strands of the silka beads. 

“Padawan beads…” she reaches into the box, thumbing the spherical beads. 

“I asked you, _told_ you on Christophsis. But… Ahsoka Tano, will you do me the honor of becoming my Padawan? In name, in physic, and in the Force?”

“I… skyguy I already _am_ your Padawan.”

“Of course you are but... you can just say yes, snips.” 

The traditional braiding ceremony would involve a few things: the lineage master, a few members of the jedi council, and an area of tranquility. Preceding it, a vote of confidence from both the council and the Force. He had done his on Naboo, with the presence of Master Yoda and Master Windu. He remembers Obi-Wan’s hands shaky from grief still, how at the time, Anakin knew not of the meaning behind his actions. 

But he knows now, of the meaning behind it. The meaning behind the ceremonies of the Jedi, the long philosophical speeches on connection. Well, a little bit. Anakin knows that Ahsoka's ceremony isn’t one she is deserving of. No, she deserves _much_ more- a traditional rite. Instead she gets the non-traditional.

Then again, Anakin has never been traditional. And he reckons, neither will Ahsoka’s padawanship. 

“When I was younger than you, my Master once told me of what his braid meant to him. Obi-Wan told me how his braid was a reassuring force, a form of strength, and a symbol of time. We have a bond in the Force, you and I. This just makes it, well, a little more official.” he takes the beads out of the box. “And well… I haven’t been able to reward you with the most pleasant experiences of padawanship. I thought this might be a start towards a better direction for that?” he shrugs, covering his nervousness with nonchalance. 

“I… of course, Master. It’s not- you don’t have to do this now, it’s alright.” Anakin raises a finger to her mouth, a gesture commandeering silence.

“Do you know the words, Ahsoka?” he asks softly. 

“Well… of course I do, Skyguy.” 

“Well then, anytime you’re ready!” moments after, Ahsoka lays kneeling in front of him, her shoto beside her right leg, and her longer blade laid above her thigh. 

The braiding ceremony is sacred. All things spoken within one must be vowed. Vowed upon the Force, upon their _souls_ . The ceremony is what establishes the connection between a Master and a Padawan, it is the penultimate beginning of a further journey towards the Force- for Master and Padawan both. Anakin _may_ be breaking some set rules and traditions by doing this, but he’s particularly uncaring of it. So long as the Force bears witness, he supposes, anything should be able to go. 

Vows that are spoken are usually traditional, memorized by younglings in the hopes of being subject to the ceremony. He had never memorized his, choosing instead to let Obi-Wan lead their ceremony, merely following along to the words Obi-Wan spoke towards him. Anakin did realize, when he accepted a Padawan, that he needed to learn the rites of the ceremony. So the days following his conversation with Ahsoka _(_ _You're reckless, little one. You never would have made it as Obi-Wan's Padawan. But you might make it as mine)_ he had learned his vows. Memorized the words and sought its meaning, for the sake of giving his Padawan her deserved Master.

Because _force_ he isn’t sure if he’ll ever get over the feelings of inadequacy, of being out of his depth. But of course, much like many other aspects, he will make an attempt. A damn good one.

Anakin takes a deep breath. “By will of the Force, I draw upon it.” he begins, staring into his Padawan’s kneeling form. Ahsoka looks up as he finishes the sentence, her young eyes staring intensely at him. “To you, I vow to teach, to nurture, to guide, and protect.” he snaps on the silka bead, his hand trailing to its final points before moving on to the next. 

“I am Jedi, being of the Force. In my words I speak honesty and vows sworn to be unbroken. I am your teacher, one of compassion. In my actions, I speak to you. Together, we shall be one, unbroken.” he intertwines the beads with each other. _The Jedi, the cosmic force, and the living force. In harmony, to manifest a true being of the Force. A Jedi._

“By will of the Force, I draw upon it. I seek to learn from you, to follow you, and together form a one. In this creed I swear on the Force, and all that is within me.” her voice reverberates through the Force, her intent clear and strong. She takes a deep breath, as if readying herself for the next part. The aspect of finalization. “In my words I take this vow as Padawan to you.” she lights the blade lain on her thigh, the hilt of it unmoving, facing upwards to show the magnificent glowing green. 

“The Force is with us, it is within us. You are a Jedi, one of the cosmic and living force. By will of it, you are my Padawan, the other of my being.” He lights his blade, a brilliant blue lighting the space. His last vow is non traditional, but his sire whispers in his ears, of its rightness. “A legacy to rise among the stars in the Force.” 

Ahsoka widens her eyes in surprise at him. He knows what his Padawan needs, right now. A friend, a brother. So he will attempt his best. Anakin turns back the trigger of his lightsaber, a gesture usually initiated by the lineage Master, and sees Ahsoka follow suit. 

Anakin Skywalker has never been traditional. He reaches his hand out to Ahsoka, faces her moment of hesitation, and helps her stand. 

“It will be my pleasure, Padawan Tano.”

He feels the glowing content of Ahsoka, a far cry from her earlier maelstrom of sadness, sorrow, and failure. Anakin feels the pride welling inside his chest, a far cry from his strong refusal in Christophsis. The Force whispers in his ears of fate, of rightness. 

The warmth he associates with his sire envelopes the room, reeking of encouragement and joy. 

Anakin wishes Obi-Wan had been here to bear witness to the ceremony. But with a glowing Ahsoka beside him, he reckons it would be worth the lecture and scolding he will be receiving from his former Master. 

_Oh well_.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a kudos and a comment if you liked it? i'd love to hear your thoughts!!
> 
> also? feel free to hit me up i'm [ah-nakin on tumblr](https://ah-nakin.tumblr.com) and [@vapaad on twitter](https://twitter.com/vapaad) (i enjoy talking to fandom peeps?)


	3. to turn to death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jedi Master Dooku leaves the Jedi Order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you have angsty dooku. you have force demon anakin, a bit of grieving obi-wan, and the traditional brand of contemplative narration. What else is necessary?

Dooku’s footsteps are heavy on the steel, steady sound permeating through the hangar. He wears black, with his chin held up high. His eyes seemingly steady hides the reasoning behind his arrival hides his grief. Days ago, Qui-Gon Jinn had passed. His former student, one he raised as if he were his own. Qui-Gon who grew to be a host for the Living Force, the Maverick, dead at the hands of supposedly mythical beings, the sith. 

Exiting the ramp, several figures await him. Mace Windu, Master Yoda, a young boy, and of course, his grandpadawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Dooku looks him over, observing that the boy has grown taller, filled out more. His eyes are glassy, red-rimmed from grief. But the most striking part is the absence of his Padawan braid. He walks, skipping over his friend and his former Master.

“Obi-Wan.” Dooku lays a steady hand on the boy’s shoulder and as the boy sags beneath his touch, he realizes; his grandpadawan needs him. 

“Master Dooku.” hurriedly collecting himself, Obi-Wan greets him. Spine straight, proper. 

The telltale sound of a walking stick is quickly followed by a blunt end towards his knees. “Greet me, you have not, hmm? Raised you to be insolent, I did not.” 

“Master.” he nods a respectful greeting towards his former Master, then moving on “Mace.” with three accounted for, Dooku looks down to the spot next to Obi-Wan, with the little boy hiding behind his legs. 

He asks Obi-Wan, “Now who might this be?” and seeing his grandpadawan look down at the creature that has taken hostage of his legs.

“This is Anakin, Anakin Skywalker.” he wonders then, what the relevance of the boy’s presence is. “My Padawan.”

The council must be insane. Not only does the boy look too young to be a Padawan, but Obi-Wan had just undergone the loss of his Master, not to mention the evident state of his youth and fresh knightship.  _ Who in their right mind would approve of the partnership? _ But looking at Obi-Wan, the look on his grandpadawan’s face pleading, seeking approval, full of sadness and determination, Dooku has no heart to protest. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Padawan Skywalker.” he kneels down, coming to eye level with the boy. There are certain noticeable features of Skywalker. His clear blue eyes, the stub of a newly grown braid, the golden halo of the boy’s hair. But most noticeably would be what’s  _ not _ visible; Skywalker shines, blindingly so. 

The boy is shy, hesitant. Obi-Wan urges him forward, and though he doesn’t speak, Skywalker bows down his head to him. “A fine name. For those who dare to claim the skies.” he watches the boy look up, staring him at the eyes. An almost odd feeling, as if his insides were being searched, as if Skywalker has touched his soul.

Skywalker steps forwards, wrapping his arms around Dooku. He freezes at the gesture, his heart thumping in his chest. Dooku freezes, then he feels warmth. The boy whispers to Dooku’s ears, “It’s okay.”

There is a chain around his heart, being clenched tightly by a strong hand. Dooku breathes; he would like to let go. 

Obi-Wan breaks the moment, “ _ Anakin _ . I- I apologize, Master Dooku.” he promptly instructs Skywalker to break away from him.

“It is… alright, Obi-Wan.” the boy looks down towards the floor, guilt and fear radiating off him. “And it is no trouble, Anakin.” the child looks up, his all-seeing eyes speaking one simple message:  _ mercy _ . 

“If you will excuse me, I would like to rescind to my quarters. And Mace… I would like to meet with the council. Later.” 

“Of course. I will have someone message you with the time for it later. It’s nice to see you back, Master Dooku.” Mace curtsies his head towards Dooku, gestures towards Obi-Wan and his charge, then promptly leaves. Only Yoda remains. 

“Gone too long you have, Padawan.” his former Master will prove to be the greatest challenge to his goals, he reckons. “Glad you are home, we are.” he sees no hoverchair for his Master, which means only one thing,

“I am glad to be back, Master.” he kneels down, allowing Yoda to climb and settle on his shoulders, a gesture amazingly familiar, even after long years. “Would you like to meditate with me, Master?”  _ for the last time _ he leaves out. 

“To the room of a thousand fountains, we shall go.” 

Something Dooku will surely miss is the serenity of the room of a thousand fountains. He sits under an old tree with his Master, reminiscent of the days of his Padawanship. Yoda’s presence reaches out to him, the tendrils of it expanding and curling around his being. Dooku exhales. When he was younger, much younger, Yoda would do much the same. He supposes it’s the closest thing to  _ love _ the grandmaster can show. It never fails to warm Dooku’s being when he does it, and when Qui-Gon proceeded to learn the technique from him.

_ Force. _ Qui-Gon. He remembers Qui-Gon Jinn, still an excitable child with gleaming eyes. He remembers how living beings would turn to Qui-Gon, listen to him, follow him. It was a great source of annoyance during missions, his Padawan’s affinity to attract things. But Dooku almost misses it. He had raised that boy to adulthood, now he has rejoined The Force. 

“Master.” Dooku slowly opens his eyes, staring at Yoda’s much more relaxed pose. 

“Focus, you should, Padawan.” 

“Master, I’m leaving the Order.” he recognizes the slump of Yoda’s ears, the sagging of his shoulders. Dooku stares his Master in his eyes. 

“Reason why, have you?” 

“I… the Sith is out there, Master. My  _ Padawan _ \-  _ Qui-Gon _ fell to him! And we do nothing. The council did not believe Qui-Gon, and it cost him his life.” he feels the rage bubbling in the pits of his stomach. He breathes.

“An err of the Council, it was. Mistaken, we were; to not trust Qui-Gon.” he can almost feel the grief radiating from Yoda. 

“Master, that  _ error _ cost his life. I can not trust a council that does not trust The Force. For that is who Qui-Gon spoke for. The Force.” Jenza would be astonished at the amount he’s spoken in his conversation with Yoda. 

“A decision you have made, then?”  _ yes _ . He wanted to say. Dooku came to Coruscant with the full conviction to leave the Order. Yet, here in the temple, with his Master across from him, with his grandpadawan in grief, and a boy as bright as a sun, Dooku hesitates. 

“I have. I am merely here to deliver my resignation and evacuate my quarters. That is all.” he skips over the part where he wanted to see Obi-Wan, to see Yoda, to see Jocasta. 

“A harsh path lies in front of you, Padawan. Take great care, you must. Would hate to see the dark reach you, I do.” Yoda stands, his stick supporting him. Not that he needs it. 

“You have taught me well enough, Master.” 

“Proud of you, I am. Of the man you are, of the man you are about to become, The Force is with you, Dooku.” he sees the old troll smile, walking away. 

Dooku is left alone under an old tree. He is left alone under an old tree in the galaxy’s center for peace and serenity. He is left alone under an old tree, in a room filled with life. His connection to the Living Force, whilst strong, is laughable compared to Qui-Gon. But as he reaches out, as he connects with the tree which housed multitudes of meditation sessions with his Padawan, Dooku sheds a tear.  _ Luminous beings, we are _ .

Dooku is not surprised to see his quarters left untouched. Everything neatly placed, his collection of trinkets from years of missions, unopened packages left in his quarters whilst he was gone. Once upon a time, Dooku’s quarters had been filled with plants, but Qui-Gon took those with him when he was knighted. A few things he has kept though, well… that would be hidden in the wooden box in his wardrobe. 

The mementos of another time lie inside it. Qui-Gon and Rael’s braid, a holovid of Komari. His Padawans are his greatest treasures. Seeing them thrive, seeing them grow, there is no greater pleasure the Force could’ve awarded him. Yet, three students later, Dooku still stands alone. Three students, with two who have now rejoined the Force. What rotten luck- if Dooku believed in it. 

He kneels, opening the box. The floor isn’t a favorable place for his aging knees, but it will have to do. Dooku slides it open, going firsthand for what used to be Qui-Gon’s braid. He remembers the knighting ceremony to this day, the beaming pride within his then-Padawan, and the more sedated pride within himself. He remembers the days following, with Qui-Gon hurriedly moving to his new rooms. 

He remembers the next weeks, months, years. Dooku remembers a sheepish Qui-Gon, newly knighted, asking to be taught how to cook properly. He remembers Qui-Gon, a little bit older, a little bit wiser, and with Feemor in tow. Of all his Padawans, his relationship with Qui-Gon had been the one to be the most  _ natural _ . 

Once upon a time, he had walked into the creche. He had walked into the creche to encounter a tiny boy talking to the temple’s various potted plants. He had stared directly into the eyes of the boy, only to be stared back. He had approached the boy, shared an introduction.  _ Qui-Gon! _ The little boy had yelped. 

Qui-Gon had smiled at him, called him with a proper monicker, and it  _ clicked _ . The Force linked them from that moment on. Master and Padawan. 

The Force had wrapped around Qui-Gon in a strange way, causing him to be extremely  _ well attuned _ to its wills, to the deals enacted between life and death. Between what they knew of existence and the Force. He had been  _ enchanting _ . 

Qui-Gon had absorbed theories with great ease, he understood strange concepts in a way that it just  _ made sense _ . His Padawan had been magnificent. As the little boy grew, so did his knowledge, so did his power. With it, came also wisdom. Qui-Gon grew out of many things, his clothing especially, but he never lost the gleam in his eyes signifying  _ wonder _ . His pure wanderlust towards the Force. 

Dooku kneels with memories of a time long gone, memories of a person now gone. He breathes deeply, reaching out towards the familiarity of his quarters, one last time. He brushes on the braid which belonged to his Padawan and slides it back into the wooden box. The pain will not sate, not so easily. But Qui-Gon always had the utmost belief in  _ Force _ . 

He will respect the wishes of his late Padawan. But first, he must start packing away his personal belongings.

Later on, as the lights of Coruscant start to shine on the darkening background of the planet, Dooku stands in the footsteps of the Council Chambers. 

“Master Dooku, they are ready for you.” the Padawan at duty bows at him appropriately. He breathes.  _ Are they?  _

“Masters.” he nods down his head. 

Dooku stands in the middle of the twelve greatest Masters in the order. He had trained with them, worked with them, trained under them, dined with them, even  _ laughed _ with them. The Jedi had been all he had known for most of his life. His first family, his friends. 

“I have come before the council to put forward my resignation from the Jedi Order.” he isn’t sure if they would argue, or if they would be stunned to silence. He doesn’t get an answer, his Master instantaneously responding instead. 

“Ready, you are? Willing, you are? Be part of the Lost, you will.” 

“Yes, Master.” he knows that Yoda will take no less than his full conviction. “I am grateful for the Order, for the family and the friendship it has given me. The Order has always- and  _ will _ always be held within me in the most esteemed regard, that is the truth.” he pauses. 

“But. My fellow Masters, my old friends. It is time for me to take my own path.” he wonders who will speak next. Dooku is familiar with the ways of the council, of the way they would communicate with their council bond. He sees it now.

“We acknowledge this, Master Dooku. We hear your appeal, and we heed the force.” Mace Windu sits next to Yoda, the epitome of a Jedi. 

“The Jedi Order thanks you for your dedication, for all that you are and for all that you have done. Master Dooku, the council accepts your resignation.” Mace looks as if he has more to say.

“It has been a pleasure, old friend.” there is a subtle tinge of sorrow in the words of the Jedi Master, yet Dooku knows that the Council, though they are much flawed. Though their mistakes, their inactions were what pushed him to his actions, has resigned to his resignation. 

The Jedi are staunch to their beliefs. There is such a thing as letting go, such a thing as trust, such a thing as agency and independence. That is what they have given to him. 

And Dooku willingly devours it. “The pleasure is mine. Masters.” he makes his rounds, head tilting around the room, for what he feels will be his last time. 

Dooku nods, and with a final nod, unhooks his lightsaber from his belt. The weapon is an extension of his being, his life. 

He hands over his lightsaber, its crystal glowing blue. 

Dooku turns his back.

He walks out of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a bit! next two chapters will be the interlude and the obi-wan in tatooine chapter! both are done and will hopefully be posted tomorrow! anyways let me know if you liked this chapter :D
> 
> don't forget to kudos and comment?


	4. interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we see the characters after the events which marked the fell of the republic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: canon typical violence, body horror, character death

_ If life was a light, _

_ why does it hurt? _

“Anakin, you’re breaking my heart!” Padmé’s cries resonate through the Force, her pain bleeding through it. He remembers, then, the agony which followed, from both her and Anakin, remembers her face struggling for breath at the hands of her husband.

_ If death is an embrace, _

_ why shouldn’t we race? _

“There is... good in him…” Padmé exhales her final breath, her voice filled with sadness. Sadness yet hope. Sadness yet strength. The babes, Luke and Leia, they have survived, to bring forth a new brand of hope. Yet, Padmé slips through him, she slips through and rejoins the Force.

_ If strength is a necessity, _

_ why is it not gifted? _

“The dark side is a pathway to abilities some may deem… unnatural.” he has to. He has to save her, he has to save his children. Anakin has begged for an answer, has screamed, has searched the cosmos with his bare hands.  _ There is no cheating death _ . He has to. Anakin has to try. For Padmé, for his family.

Anakin Skywalker kneels.

_ If pain was an oddity, _

_ why must we be so blessed? _

He feels the lava eating away at his flesh, sees the body of the man he once thought a father, the man he once called brother turned away against him. His own agony bleeds in the force, discoloring it, darkening it to no return.

Anakin Skywalker screams.

_ to turn to hope when it does not exist _

_ to turn to tears when it is not an exit _

_ to turn to life when it does not persist _

_ to turn to death when we cannot resist _

The sun sets on Coruscant. The Jedi Temple burns still, the smoke from it blending with the other pollutants of Coruscant through the air filters. The Senate in chaos, broken panes of glass and bodies littering it,  _ a Jedi insurgency, they had said. _

Banners unfurl, the Empire has shown itself, Sheev Palpatine in its head.

_ cruelty in every living breath _

_ protesting screams in our wrath _

_ unfairness, injustice, sorrow. _

_ hope, love, the promise of tomorrow. _

Bail sits, Breha on his side, and Leia a bundle in her arms. He watches the sunset on Alderaan and thinks of the atrocity of the Empire. He thinks of the Jedi Temple, now burning. He lists his friends, his fellow senators, members of his delegation, disappearing one by one. Bail remembers his friend, her stance, her fight, and her utter belief in  _ democracy _ . He looks towards the Alderaani sunset. 

Bail Organa is ready. Sunset has arrived for the Republic.

Still, it will rise.

_ why must we stay, _

_ when we are forsaken. _

_ why must we try, _

_ when we are forgotten. _

_ why must we cry, _

_ when you do not listen _ .

There is nothing but emptiness in the Force. There is nothing but dead Jedi in his visions. He holds Luke closer to his chest, cradling him and soothing him. The baby, only days old, had lost so much. He had lost so much, things he has never even known. Things he can never know.

Obi-Wan mourns for the babe in his arms. For what should’ve been and for what  _ is _ .

_ the truth of creation, _

_ is not the myth of bisection; _

_ of how we came to fruition, _

_ is not the tale of perception; _

_ to justify us in motion, _

_ is not the story of conception. _

_ we are objects of lie _

_ subjects of life _

_ attempting to thrive _

_ to fall in vile _

He kneels, half machine and half man. He wails. It’s impossible. Anakin had  _ lost her _ . Padmé is gone, no longer in the realm of the living. The beast inside him wakes. It sorts through the galaxy, unraveling planets one by one, flattening mountains, and lifting entire oceans.  _ Where is she? Where is she? _

He tears through the force, searching for the golden tendril which connects her to life, to existence. 

**_ No. _ **

_ we are seekers of hope _

_ bearers of grief _

_ trying to be free _

_ and met with disbelief  _

He stands, half machine and half man. The durasteel now replacing his limbs are heavy, the mask on his face exists to strike fear. Fear at all those who encounter him and fear within him for its eventual failure. The Sith tenant declares that the Force shall free him. So he stands, half-machine, half-man. Burnt organic matter accompanied by the strongest of durasteel-

Vader pleads.

_ we are humans of wrong _

_ a soul of song _

_ with eyes young _

_ and a heart that’s burning _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update! finally finishing this


	5. to turn to tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan grieves in the deserts of Tatooine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update! there's a chapter before this. 
> 
> Thank you so much to Ro for beta'ing this chapter! you are a god sent. Fantastical being. [here's a link to their AO3, Ro29](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ro29) where they craft a lot of incredible fics!
> 
> WARNINGS: Canon typical violence, thoughts of death, panic attacks.
> 
> Obi-Wan is not in a great place right now. Please take heed of the warnings.

The desert isn’t cruel. The blinding rays of Tatooine’s twin suns aren’t cruel. The Force isn’t cruel. All that happens, all that has happened… everything is within reason. Or so he would like to believe. He stares towards the farm, in it yet another youngling he has sworn to protect. Obi-Wan hopes he will not fail this time, it is not an option ( _ failure was not an option when training the chosen one, yet here you are) _ not after Anakin, not after Padmé, not after the fall of the Republic. 

_ Hope _ . 

He wonders where hope is. Certainly, it is the exact opposite of what Obi-Wan is feeling. The suns are setting, and with it the safety provided by the rays. He acknowledges the need to go, to find shelter. But with his hood covering his face, Anakin and Qui-Gonn’s lightsabers hanging on the clips of his bag, in this place- the place of endings and beginnings, Obi-Wan can’t help but stay unmoving in his thoughts. Perhaps, if he stayed, the desert would show him mercy, spare him the cruelty. 

Once upon a time, they had made haste landing on these very same grains of sand. He was younger then, a padawan braid still extending from his head. Qui-Gonn was alive then, all boldness and brashness of a Master of the Living Force. Padmé was a light then, her foreboding words of justice and freedom echoes through his heart still. Anakin… Anakin was a child then, a child of the suns, with the potential of a sledding Zillo Beast. His Padawan had once been a child in bondage on these very same grains of sand. 

When Anakin spoke of Tatooine, as a child, he spoke of wistful tales and the happiness he found under the twin suns. As he grew, as his knowledge grew, so did his resentment towards the planet. Obi-Wan had not heard a single mention of the planet outside tactical briefings during the three years of the clone wars. He wonders the memories which lay here, the memories of another life. 

There are bespoke horror and beauty to be associated with nighttime in the desert. Obi-Wan’s eopie trudges through the sand, following what he hopes to be the direction the Force is taking him to. Surrounded by the harsh cold winds of the desert and an animal quickly warming his thighs, Obi-Wan feels alone. 

He had never felt alone. Not as a youngling in the creche, with caring Masters and age mates accompanying him. Not as a padawan, with the golden thread of Qui-Gon in his head, with shared quarters filled with his plants and tinges of his force presence. Not as a knight, or as a master, even after Qui-Gon. No, he had Anakin then. Anakin who, at first, had been overwhelmingly loud and bright. Anakin who, then on, tethered him into the galaxy and the force. Anakin who he shared a bond with for over a decade, whom he needed only to have tiny musings of, and then he will be met. Not as a general, with Cody ( _ Cody who had ordered him shot and left for dead _ ) by his side, with his battalion, with the presence of his grandpadawan, with  _ Anakin _ . 

He had never been alone, for he always had Anakin.  _ His Padawan _ . He had never been alone, for he had the Jedi.  _ His family. _

The tenants of the Force dictate that loneliness should not be a possibility for Jedi. Not when the Force can be accessed. When in situations of peril, a Jedi could always count on the Force, on its existence and its warm embrace for its favorite children. Obi-Wan does not feel the warmth when accessing the Force, just  _ cold _ . The cold and gaping holes, where thousands upon thousands of light should be, where warmth should be spreading, Obi-Wan sees-  _ feels _ nothing but vast darkness, but the void. 

His grip on the halter falls, the eopie stops with it. There is a thumping, in his chest. Obi-Wan feels it quicken, and his breath along with it.  _ Thump thump thump _ . He buries his head onto the neck of the animal reeling for its support. Wisps of fog come out of his mouth at every rapid breath, the cold desert air making him shiver. Obi-Wan raises an arm to the left side of his chest, clawing at the sting of pain, attempting to force it to stop. 

“ _ Stop _ , stop. Just… please,” he speaks in a pleading whisper, his chest constricting harder and harder at every word. Obi-Wan squints his eyes, tears welling.  _ It is alright, Padawan, calm yourself.  _ Qui-Gon had once spoken to him soothing words, would embrace him between nightmares of war. 

Obi-Wan breathes, and he falls. His chest is no longer constricting, but his breath comes in a labored form, his hair now messy, his head propped up only by the neck of the eopie. In the dead of the night, at a land of bareness, he lets his tears flow more freely. Obi-Wan had never been a crier, but when the water wets the coat of the animal when his low guttural sobbing is swallowed by the grains of sand to join other lost memories. Obi-Wan lets himself cry.

_ We don’t cry on Tatooine, it’s a waste of water _ .

Damn him, damn the sith. He wants nothing more than to pretend the events of the week had never happened, but how  _ could he _ . How could he forget all those who are lost, lost by the hands of  _ his own Padawan _ , nonetheless. Obi-Wan had once quipped that he was destined for infinite sadness, and he longs for it to be false. 

_ Where did it all go wrong? How did it end up like this, Anakin? _

The boy from Tatooine is dead, the golden light he orbits around gone. Another victim of endless war, of pain and sorrow, of desperation and manipulation. If he hadn’t vowed to protect his Padawan’s son, Obi-Wan would be running his lightsaber through Chancellor, no,  _ Emperor _ Palpatine’s heart. Anakin, his brother, his Padawan, had been reduced into  _ ashes _ , leaving behind a shell, a phantom with his face. ( _ I  _ **_ hate _ ** _ you) _

Revenge is not the way of the Jedi, but what is left of the great protectors of the peace? What is left of his order? A broken man, and a troll in exile. They were  _ murdered _ ; murdered by their own kin, by their own men. Chased and shot after like prey. 

Obi-Wan would like to believe he would not stoop as low as revenge, even in the face of the Sith's destruction of the Jedi Order for eons to come. For  _ that’s  _ how long it will take for the Jedi to rise again, eons; if they rise at all. But left alone, with his family as good as dead, those closest to him gone, the Force weeping, he is unsure. Obi-Wan doesn’t have a next step, has no other emotion inside him except grief. Grief and rage.

Masters far older and wiser than him would always speak of the kindness of the Force, of how the Force is not cruel.

Here, in the desert where secrets are swallowed, Obi-Wan would like to rebut that. The Force is not  _ kind _ . It is cruel, it has taken all that it has given. The Force took the order, took his Master- it took  _ Qui-Gon _ . And it took  _ Anakin _ . Constantly, he asks for answers. Every time, he is met with nothing but silence, but an absence where light once shone _. _

During the long days of his trip to Tatooine under a guise, a swaddled Luke in his arms, Obi-Wan had meditated. He had meditated and reached into the Force. He sought for any signs of hope- of  _ light _ . Obi-Wan ventured for traces of his friends, of any remaining members of his family, of Ahsoka. He had found none. They were all gone, the Force the quietest it had been during his entire life.  _ He didn’t go with them, he stayed. Does he want to stay? Why did he stay? _

Obi-Wan hears birds and raises his head. Tatooine’s three moons are bright, its glow lighting his path and the scenery of cliffs. The moons remind him of Cody, of the tales of his youth under the three moons of Kamino. Cody. His loyal commander, his closest compatriot, his friend. Cody who had ordered his death. Obi-wan misses the rigid commander, with his constant presence and steady assurance. His commander, always at the ready to defend the Republic, the Jedi, living beings. His commander, whose battle cry he wishes to hear. Cody, whose betrayal leaves a sting hotter than the blaster canon he ordered to be shot through his heart. He shakes himself out of his thoughts.  _ Right. Shelter, he needed to find shelter _ . He follows his instincts, using a scope for traces of a cave system or something of sorts. 

What he finds is a hut. He dismounts his ride, gently brushing it in the head and hooking it to a stick of wood buried in the sand. There looks to be no power in the dwelling, and he opens the door with force. It’s abandoned he reckons, especially with the layer of sand covering the various but sparse furnishing.  _ This would make do _ . 

He walks around the dwelling, noticing the curved mattress, which he assumed was made to allow for more living space. He’s not fond of the idea of trying an abandoned mattress in the middle of the wastes. The pack he carries is laid down on the floor, freeing his shoulders from the weight. There’s a pathway upwards to which Obi-Wan hope is a kitchenette. Two chairs are around the dining table, layered with sand, roughened by the conditions of the dry heat. He brushes the sand off the chair, takes off his robes to lay it down on the, once again, sand-covered table, and takes a seat. 

It must be a sight. The Negotiator, High General Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, and council member; beard and hair unkempt, eyes red-rimmed from tears, and evidence of charring still on his boots. Though, as he sits there, he reckons Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead now, fallen into ashes along with his Padawan and the Jedi temple.

Tomorrow, he will face the grim reality of this new existence, the new duties of guarding Luke. After days of sleeping with the presence of the baby nearby, Obi-Wan finds himself searching for it. He knows it’s unlikely that he will get a full night’s worth of rest, unlikely that what rest he will get won’t be plagued by nightmares.  _ Nightmares of Anakin burning in lava, of Anakin’s screams of pain, his low begging, asking for help.  _

He closes his eyes with a single tear running down his face. 

\---------

Obi-Wan wakes with the suns. His body aches from sleeping on the chair. His outfit is rumpled, and seeing the clear lack of any form of supplies, he opts to pat it down with his two hands instead. The sonic is the first thing he needs to check, then it’s kitchen supplies, and off to Anchorhead in an attempt to make the place livable. 

He’d joke that, at least, he doesn’t have to deal with Coruscanti real estate. But then again, he had never dealt with Coruscanti real estate when living in the Jedi Temple. 

There is a certain charm to the hut, though. And he imagines it would be appropriate for Luke to have a place for training later on. First, Anchorhead. The eopie should be able to take him there, though he’d have to get his furnishing delivered. It’s a shame Tatooine didn’t have SPOPEE, he reckons the lives of just about everyone on the planet would be made easier with its existence. Obi-Wan’s pack is still neatly closed, unopened. Looking down at his tabards, his tunic, perhaps it would be best to look less like a Jedi and more like a desert hermit. 

After a dressing down, Obi-Wan envelopes his robes around him once more, he wraps fabric around his face, sand covering. 

Tatooine is the galaxy’s central for scoundrels, a perfect place for discretion. Anakin had once told him of the marketplace, of its vibrance and its horrors. But that had been tales of Mos Espa. Anchorhead, he observes is… much less vibrant. The browns and yellows of the buildings are accompanied by vendors carrying carts and opening stands. Trinkets are laid on them, from accessories to exotic fruits. Even with the lack of a bustling nature of a marketplace, there is still quite an incessant amount of vendors around. There is a stage right at the center of the marketplace, a shutoff holoscreen behind it, and trails of blood on the wood. S _ lave auctions _ . It’s a galactic disease, and extremely present on Tatooine,  _ even within a wasteland town _ . 

He spots a shop selling foods and settles with the fact that he would most likely have to buy nothing except ration bars. What Obi-Wan desperately needs is to find some furniture, preferably a mattress and cleaning tools first. 

Later on, Obi-Wan sits on his newly installed mattress. It’s firm, and likely used- though the vendor claimed it to be new, but it will make do.  _ How did he get here? _ In the pale walls of the hut, where silence echoes and Obi-Wan is  _ alone _ . He buries his head into his hands. He needs to meditate. 

The grains of sand heats up his legs, sitting in a crossed leg position. Tatoo I and Tatoo II are just beginning to make their descent, the temperature fluctuates at these hours. He believes to be knowledgeable enough to be able to tell that no sandstorm will come today or tomorrow.  _ He hopes _ , at least. 

Meditation is routine, it is something he knows and is extremely familiar with. But not lately. The Force has been different, the galaxy has felt different. Instead of peace, meditation had started to bring him pain, had started to show him painful reminders of the past, and a future that does not exist. But he will try. He straightens his shoulders and closes his eyes, reaching out with his other senses instead. He breathes in cold air, and exhales warmly, his chest rhythmically rising and falling. Next, Obi-Wan centers in on himself. He hears the whistling winds, the only sound between the quiet, and the subtle sounds of the eopie. The grains of sand feels rough on his portion of exposed skin, but he feels every individual one. With enough heat, it will turn to glass. 

A Jedi is a being of The Force, supposedly free of individual greed and wants. He knows it to not be the reality, as it’s impossible for a sentient to be free of such feelings. What matters though, what makes a Jedi, is their  _ control _ . Their control over the force, their connection, their desires, and their compassion. Everything has limits, even seemingly boundless control. So when he enters the Force, enters the realm of peace, where stars shine brighter than in the mortal realm, and he finds it to be dark, dark  _ still _ , void like last time. Where Obi-Wan can no longer see the golden beacons of his fellow Jedi, can no longer feel the bolstering light of the galaxy, he reaches his limit. 

He feels himself crumbling, an unwilling whine escaping him. Gluing his eyes tighter together, practically squinting, tears starting to well, and Obi-Wan would like nothing more than to scream.  _ Jedi. Where are the Jedi. _ When his eyes open, Obi-Wan is surrounded by a vortex of sand, his loss of control an explosion, leaving in his wake sand floating around him, and where he sits an island within a shallow circle as if a wave washed over to clear it.

_ It is alright. You are in the Junland Wastes, no one can see, no one will see. It will be alright.  _

In a panic, Obi-Wan walks back to the hut, his steps in a clear hurry, and crumbles on the other side of the door as soon as it closes. He can’t afford losing control, can’t afford being known, can’t afford to be  _ alive _ . The painful memories must be acknowledged, must be accepted as a pathway. He needs it to purge, and be released in the Force. Obi-Wan has many wants, many needs, but there is no room to afford them, not when what could be the fate of the entire galaxy hangs in the thread. Not with Luke, Luke who he has vowed to protect and guide, is here. Not with him in danger. 

No. Obi-Wan has long since come to the understanding of duty. Of  _ his  _ duty. He knows of his desires and dreams but acknowledges the importance of cogs in a machine, his duty. Currently, it is the still-red newborn, with eyes bright blue like his father’s before him. Currently, it is the protection of his brother’s son. Obi-Wan understands his place and remembers the advice of his wise late Master. Qui-Gon would constantly pester him about focusing. About  _ focusing on the here and now _ . So yes, he has a lot to process, nightmares he has to face. There is a future to think of when the Empire is rising. But now, he has a duty. And that duty is Luke Skywalker. Everything else will merely have to be a problem for future Obi-Wan, not present Obi-Wan.

So he collects himself and moves forward.  _ Focus on the here and now. _

In the morning, he treats himself to a cup of tea. Two spoons in a brewer, with water for one and a refill. They transfer into a teapot for drinking, alongside one cup and a tray. It is routine, it’s something Obi-Wan has always known. He wanders around to check on appliances and goes out of the hut to feed the eopie.

He pets the creature on its neck, feeling its smooth coat. The eopie makes small movements, its head buried deep in the bucket of feed.  _ This is nice _ . 

“You are still here, aren’t you girl?” he thinks of Boga, the varactly who accompanied him to defeat Grievous. Obi-Wan may have survived being blasted by his own men, but Boga didn’t. He mourns for the creature, even after only knowing her for hours. Her smooth scales are far different from the eopie’s but the companion of the creature reminds him of her still. 

“Well, I suppose if you’re staying, I ought to give you a name.” The eopie’’s sound vibrates through her neck. A strong voice, worthy of such a heavy-duty and stubborn creature. 

“I see. Would Neda be an acceptable name?” He likes the sound of the name, Neda- a voice. And he reckons Neda approves of it as well. He pats her on the neck a few times, taking her now empty bucket back inside. 

Obi-Wan muses that, well, he has never had this much free time in his life. Not that he remembers. There exists a certain quality of monotony in his days under the twin suns. He wakes, meditates, eats, walks over to the homestead, sees the setting of the suns, and then he sleeps. Some days, days where he feels better, Obi-Wan sightsees. He unfolds a chair and stares at the wildlife of Tatooine. Some days, Obi-Wan tends to the plants and observes them. Obi-Wan would observe the occasional Tuskens, along with the herds of Banthas and other wildlife crossing through beyond his hut. Some of the Banthas would come nearer, and after several rotations, Obi-Wan concluded that they have established themselves near his hut.

Some days, Obi-Wan would come closer to the wildlife, he would bring the meager feed he had, and feed them. The Banthas herd as family. A mother and two calves. The large creatures worm themselves into a place in Obi-Wan’s heart. 

He had once told his Master to not name things, for when Qui-Gon named things, he was more likely to want to keep it. Something which… is disagreeable to Obi-Wan, who had to constantly aid his Master in herding his pathetic lifeforms. Of course, trouble came when one of his Master’s then pathetic lifeform already came with a name. No wonder Obi-Wan grew to care- maybe  _ too much _ for Anakin. 

“Well, I’m not sure what to call you.” Obi-Wan has now reduced himself to talking with no one but animals. 

“I’ve never been quite good with names, I’m afraid. That was more of my old Master’s expertise.” the creature rumbles under him.

“Well I suppose I could make an attempt?” he will start with the Mother and the two foals. 

“Tikara… Tika? Would that be agreeable, Mother Bantha?” he takes the rumble as an agreement from the feeding Bantha. 

“As for your foals… Nara and Roka? Yes… it feels right.” he has always been good with animals, since his days in the creche. 

“Tika, Nara, and Roka. I wish you all a pleasant existence, my friends.”

Some days, Obi-Wan would wake up in cold sweat. He would hear words spoken over fire, and the burning eyes which followed. On those days, days where the memories were alive, where they were too much, Obi-Wan would sit. He would sit and think of his duty. Obi-Wan would remember the death of his brother, and he would think of Leia star systems away. 

Then, he would think of the blue-eyed babe not far off from him. Obi-Wan would think of how much like Anakin he already looks, and wonder if Leia takes after her mother the same way. Obi-Wan would remember a much younger Anakin, building droids and wreaking havoc in the Jedi Temple. Anakin with his adoring eyes reaching for the stars. He remembers Anakin’s constantly moving hands, carving wood into miraculous shapes and droids into existence. 

Obi-Wan had learned the art form, once. Anakin’s guiding hands on his, gliding through the wood and laughing at his increasingly creasing facial features. He picks up his carving tool, a piece of wood to go along with it. Carving worked miracles as a form of moving meditation for Anakin. It works wonders on him now. 

He lets his hand flow, his eyes boring into it. Obi-Wan follows and fights the grain of the wood, shaping it. Hours spent dedicating himself to the craft, Obi-Wan feels serenity reach him. He first shapes the wings; majestic and strong as stable as duracreet. He craves the body, detailing the viewport, away to look at the stars that build space. 

Before he realizes it, Obi-Wan has built a ship.  _ Anakin used to carve ships. _

Everything he does reminds him of Anakin, of his other half. He feels the emptiness in The Force- the emptiness of his  _ soul _ at his absence. Obi-Wan feels his insides curling, feels it tensing, feels as it blows. He screams into the void that is The Force.

He feels a pulse responding back at him. Something familiar, familiar yet impossible. Obi-Wan looks up, and he dares to speak his thoughts. 

“...Master?” he hesitates. 

A blue version of Qui-Gon appears in his line of sight as if he were from a holo. Obi-Wan has gone insane. 

“Padawan!” the hallucination of his Master is frantic. “I know that look on your face, Obi-Wan. I can assure you, I am very much real.” 

Well, Yoda  _ did _ tell him of his Master’s presence. Then again, the old troll had a tendency for craziness sometimes. “But… how.”

“We are luminous beings, Obi-Wan. I have much to tell you. I know you must have a lot of questions and-” 

“Why didn’t you show up sooner?” Obi-Wan interrupts. Perhaps if Qui-Gon had shown up sooner, Anakin would still be  _ here _ . His friends would. Cody would. “We needed you, and you weren’t there!” he would never dare to scream at Qui-Gon in his right mind. 

“Padawan…” the voice of his former Master takes a softer tone, his eyes seemingly scanning over Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan and his unkempt beard, hair, and clothes. Obi-Wan and his broken eyes. 

“Oh, Obi-Wan… I am so sorry, young one.” 

He crumbles to his knees in front of the apparition of his old Master, and he sobs. “ _ I failed _ .”

Obi-Wan had once promised his Master to take Anakin Skywalker under his teaching, had once vowed to guide Anakin to greatness and knighthood. He had sworn to his dying Master, that Anakin Skywalker would be a Jedi. For him to be the best of Jedi was unspoken for, came with the territory of being  _ chosen _ .

“Padawan… no. You did not fail. You did not fail Anakin, or the Jedi, or the Republic, you did not fail  _ anyone _ .” Obi-Wan heeds not Qui-Gon’s words. “Obi-Wan. Look at me. You do not bear responsibility for  _ any of this _ .” 

“You are not responsible for the entire galaxy, Padawan.”  _ no, he was only responsible for the one  _ **_ meant to _ ** _ guide the galaxy _ . 

“I should’ve been  _ there! _ I should have  _ helped him _ .” he feels his voice breaking, choking on his own sobs. 

“You are not to blame, Obi-Wan. He stood on a crossroad and he made his choice.” Qui-Gon sighs. “Calm yourself. Trust in the Force.  _ Listen _ to it.” he would laugh at the obscenity if he had the strength.

“The Force has brought nothing but  _ pain _ . It has done nothing but take and take. It has been nothing but  _ cruel _ .” 

“ _ Listen _ . Listen as it weeps, listen as it grieves, listen as it searches for  _ you _ .” 

“It has been anything but kind, Master.” he feels the anger rise in him.

“Remember your teachings, Obi-Wan. This is not  _ healthy _ for you. It is not healthy for you to hold on to your anger, to your  _ grief _ . Calm yourself, Obi-Wan.” and with that, he is alone once more. 

It is unfair for Obi-Wan to fully move on. Anakin had died and Obi-Wan had murdered what was left of him instead of trying to save him. He dueled the boy he had raised as if he were his own upon fiery grounds and he had left him to burn. Obi-Wan was confronted with golden eyes in the body of Anakin Skywalker. He was confronted with the hateful spites in the voice of Anakin. 

He tries not to think. He tries not to think of Anakin’s screams as his body burns into ashes. He tries not to remember. He tries not to remember Anakin’s rage as they met, blade by blade, in sync, and  _ so incredibly wrong _ .

Obi-Wan doesn’t know how to stop mourning for his lost Padawan. He does not know the Force without Anakin, not anymore. He knows only grief. 

When the Jedi Temple was razed, Obi-Wan found their shared quarters untouched. Everything in its proper place as if nothing had happened, as if slaughter did not just color the very halls leading to it. He collected what he had, Qui-Gon’s lightsaber- now hanging next to Anakin’s. He had retrieved Anakin’s box, what was left of him. He dares not to open it, not when he knows what he will find inside; memories. 

_ Closure. _

Obi-Wan walks towards his makeshift wardrobe, digging through it for the wooden box, the very same one which belonged to his late Master. It’s sealed tight, controls inside it made to keep the contents of the box safe through the long passage of time. He unseals it. 

What stands out the most in the box is the light-colored hair. Anakin’s blonde locks had shone even brighter when he was younger. The braid is intertwined with beads, signifying Anakin’s trials and his power in overcoming them. Obi-Wan is quite proud of the amount Anakin has. He twines his thumb on it, remembering the days where he would help braid them.

They would sit together in the mornings, a cup of Sapir or H’Kak Bean tea with them. Anakin would chatter excitedly of his projects, of his plans for the day. Obi-Wan would nod along, his hand rhythmically brushing through his Padawan’s hair as he chattered animatedly. At the start, Obi-Wan would continuously pull on Anakin’s hair by accident, citing a yelp from the boy. 

As he grew, as his braid grew, those mornings would go on for longer when they had the opportunity to do it. They grew more comfortable in the quiet as time went on, finding comfort in the calming mornings, in the repetitive action of intertwining the three strands of hair. Anakin would smile at him, saying a soft thank you. 

Those were the days where the word ‘ _ Master’  _ held more meaning to him than ever. 

His own braid and Ahsoka’s much more subtle silka beads lie next to the place where Anakin’s braid previously occupied. Oh, what a trio they make. 

Anakin had been silly, at times, managing to get his braid partially cut off on missions or singed in lightsaber practice. He remembers the days of guiding Anakin through the beginnings of lightsaber katas, how those were the days Anakin was more excited for.  _ He wanted to free the slaves _ .

Obi-Wan Kenobi is sitting cross-legged on the sands of Tatooine, the planet where Anakin hailed from. He sits alone with nothing but the remnants of a past burnt to ashes accompanying him. He tightens his fist around Anakin’s braid, feeling the remnants of his former Padawan within it, the little traces of his presence. He grips it tight, feeling every strain of hair in the outer area, careful still to not unfurl it. 

Obi-Wan sits on the wastelands of Tatooine, staring at the same skies a slave boy had once wished upon. He lives, lives near the grave of the lost, and the grave of his dearest mother. Obi-Wan sees nothing but remnants of Anakin in Tatooine. He sees nothing but Anakin in Luke’s eyes, feels nothing in the cold desert nights and the burning suns other than his presence, hears nothing through the rustling winds and the bellowing sandstorms but his voice. 

There is much to remember Anakin by. His laughter, his joy, his protectiveness, his dedication, his loyalty, his  _ passion _ .

What Obi-Wan remembers last of Anakin is a yellow-eyed shell, flesh burning in lava, and screams of pain, a pained voice pleading for help. 

Anakin’s braid and lightsaber are what’s left for him to remember him by. One tells a time much more simple and happier, the other used in their last moments together.

What would Anakin want, in the eventuality of his death? He would want Padmé’s presence- or to be by his mother one last time. If Obi-Wan had known how to bring back those who are dead, they would not be in these currents of events.

Then, the next best thing. 

The next day, Obi-Wan rides Neda to the homestead. He carries with him the wooden box. Within it lies what is left of the Anakin Skywalker he knew, the Anakin that was his family. He cleans the carved wooden plane, the name  _ skywalker _ etched on its side, giving it to Luke, upon which it instantly finds entry to his mouth. 

Obi-Wan smiles. 

He steps outside, to where Shmi Skywalker now lies in peace. The wind is agreeable, in which its presence is practically naught. He brings out the box, unsealing it one last time. He takes out the braid, to hold it for one last time. The Jedi believed in the Force, in trust, and agency. Obi-Wan hopes for the Jedi tenants to come true, for it to shine once more. For Anakin. 

He stores the braid back in the box. “Be one with the force, Anakin,” he whispers to the box, planting his lips softly on the surface of it. 

Obi-Wan places it in his little dig hole, sprinkling a fistful of sand on top of it. He sits cross-legged in front of Anakin’s grave and stares at the darkening skies. He would want to be laid to rest under the stars. Obi-Wan opens himself up to the force, feeling a barrage of worry coming towards him, almost causing him to giggle. 

He connects with the Force, willing it to move every individual grain of sand. He will give Anakin a burial worthy of any Jedi. Slowly, the sand trickles on the hole, him combining it with some water to encourage it solidifying. 

Minutes later, Obi-Wan opens his eyes. He opens his eyes to the quiet of the desert night, to the buzz of the force in his head. Obi-Wan looks towards the grave which now bears the markings of his brother.

“I will miss you, Anakin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's pretty much it, yeah. Thanks for joining me along this ride, if anyone's still riding along?? but yeah! don't forget to leave a kudos and a comment if you liked it <33 
> 
> you can find me as [ah-nakin on tumblr](https://ah-nakin.tumblr.com) or on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/vapaad)

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me as [ah-nakin on tumblr](https://ah-nakin.tumblr.com) or on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/vapaad)
> 
> please consider leaving a comment and a kudos if you liked it? I live off them!


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